


A Fractured Fish

by LilianMarsh



Series: Writing Prompts and Short Stories [2]
Category: Fairy Tales & Related Fandoms
Genre: Fairy Tale Retellings, Fairy Tale Style, Fractured Fairy Tale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-23
Updated: 2018-04-23
Packaged: 2019-04-27 00:50:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14414085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LilianMarsh/pseuds/LilianMarsh
Summary: I was challenged to do a fractured fairy tale prompt. This is my rendition of The Golden Fish.





	A Fractured Fish

     Once upon a time there was a humble fisherman, who had never longed for anything. Since his birth, life had always been enough. His father owned a small shack near the sea and they spent their life living off the land. They never had too much or too little; it was always just enough. When his father died, the fisherman took his place and inhereited his childhood home. Eventually, the fisherman met a local girl, and her father, like the fisherman’s, was satisfied with enough and desired for her to marry the fisherman.

     Although they did get married, the fisherman’s wife was not content. She despised the small home with just enough space and the garden that grew fruits and vegetables just the right size. She was tired of her life, but she was bitter at her husband. “All you do is fish until we have enough to eat and enough money to survive! You have no drive! Don’t you want to be happy? Don’t you want more?” These words became the only ones she would say, and the fisherman had only one response:

     “All I need is enough.” Then he would pick up his pole and walk down to the sea. The fisherman loved the ocean, for it was peaceful and rhythmic. The waves gently rolled against the sand and the gulls glided on the warm breeze. Closing his eyes, the fisherman took a deep breath, letting the calm wash away the tension at home. He truly loved his wife, but he could not understand why she and everyone else wanted more. More never led to anything good. The fisherman would watch the people and carriages as he took his catch to market. Rich couples would appear, almost unrecognizable as they strutted like peacocks in more lavish attire and jewels. Eventually their appetites and their wealth were no longer compatible. Many of the beggars the fisherman passed were once the wealthy that turned their noses when he walked by. _No_ , the fisherman thought as he casted his line, _more was not worth the price._

     As the fisherman let his mind wander away with the passing clouds, he felt a tug on the line. Reeling the struggling quarry to shore, the fisherman was surprised to see a golden fish break through the waves. It glided through the air and landed in his lap, gasping in the air. “Oh, my,” said the fisherman as he gripped the fish firmly, pulling the hook from its mouth, “I have never seen a fish as beautiful as you, not in all this sea. It would be a shame to kill such a handsome fish.” He walked down to the water, wading in until it lapped around his shins and let the fish slip from his hand.

     Before he could turn, a small voice rose from around his feet. “Thank you, kind sir.”

     The fisherman looked down to see, seeing the shimmering gold fish gazing up at him. “If you were the voice I just heard, then you are a special fish indeed.”    

               “It was me.” The fish swam in lazy circles around the fisherman, “And I am no ordinary fish: I am a prince.”

     “I have never seen such a small prince.” The fisherman smiled, curling his toes in the sand.

               “Yes, well, long ago I was young and foolish, but even the experience of age does not undo the mistakes of the past.” The fish swam out a little way and turned once more to the fisherman, “There is an evening storm on the breeze. You may want to call it a day.”

     Nodding, the fisherman walked back to shore, collecting his supplies. “Thank you, Prince Fish.” The golden fish flipped into the air, offering a tail flick as a wave goodbye. As the fisherman drew near his home, he saw his wife pulling weeds in the garden. “Ilsabill!” he called, opening the gate to the small wooden fence that surrounded their shack. “It is best to finish the work in the garden, there is an evening storm approaching.”

     Signing, Ilsabill stood up, wiping dirt on her smock. “How do you know that?”

     The couple walked inside, the fisherman setting down his gear as his wife moved to the kitchen and placed the vegetables she had collected in the sink. “The golden fish told me.”

     His wife turned from the sink, giving a skeptical look. “A fish…told you the weather?” Turning back, Ilsabill began cleaning the vegetables for dinner, “You have been spending too much time in the sun.”

     “No, he really was a talking fish.” The farmer sat in a chair, lighting a pipe as he thought back on the day. “A magical fish, and a prince, too.” He blew a small ring of smoke, letting it travel to the ceiling. “I caught him and chose to return him to the sea. He seemed like a nice fish.”

     “Wait,” Ilsabill said, and turned from her dinner preparations “You saved a magical fish-prince and didn’t ask for any compensation?”

     “Compensation?”

     Ilsabill placed her hand on her hip, “Yes! You should have asked the fish to fulfill a wish!” She snapped, walking up to her husband. “You should have asked for money or power! Something! Anything!”

     The fisherman leaned back in his seat, trying to avoid the finger his wife now pointed in his face. “But I don’t need anything. We already have…”

     “Enough?” she growled. “Yes, I know. That is what you always say! But what if it isn’t enough for me? Don’t you want what is best for me? Don’t you want me to be happy?”

     “Yes, of course.” The fisherman turned his pipe over, tapping out the ash. His wife leaned forward, making a puppy-dog expression. The fisherman signed, “What would you like me to ask for?”

     “A beautiful cottage,” she smiled, “with wood floors and glass in the windows. A cottage that has walls separating the rooms.”

     Nodding, the fisherman smoked his pipe, looking out the window watching the distant thunder clouds. “Tomorrow I will go.”   

     “No, no, no.” Ilsabill pulled on his sleeve. “Go now. If you do not hurry, the fish may be gone.”

     “But the storm...” he mumbled.

     “You are a fisherman. You can guess the speed of the clouds on the wind. Without your gear weighing you down you will have plenty of time.”

     Nodding again, the fisherman grabbed his coat and headed out the door. He traveled down to his fishing spot, calling out to the sea. The grey clouds were closer than before, and he hoped the golden fish could hear him. As if to answer his unspoken thoughts, the fish appeared sticking is head out of the water. “Why are you here kind fisherman? Do you not see the storm coming?”

     “Yes, I do, Prince Fish. But my wife wishes for me to ask for a gift in exchange for releasing you.”

     “What does she want?”

     “A beautiful cottage. She does not like the shack in which we live.”

     The fish bobbed in way that appeared to be a nod. “Then return home; it has been done.”

     The fisherman waved before turning to the path, “Thank you Prince Fish.” As the fish had claimed, a white cottage stood where his shack had once been. It was much too large for his taste, but maybe this would satisfy Ilsabill. However, when his wife emerged from the house, he could see discontent on her face.

     “This cottage is nice dear, but what is the point of having a better home if we still dress and eat like the lower class?” She leaned against him, hugging her husband gently. “Maybe you could ask the fish to make you a Duke and I a Duchness?”

     “We can’t possibly ask for something more. Isn’t that rude?”

     She shook her head, twining her fingers with his. “It is the least that fish could do, since you saved his life.”

     The fisherman nodded, enjoying the attention from his usually agitated wife. “Tomorrow I will go.”

     “Please go now,” Ilsabill pressed closer, poutung. “The clouds are still in the distance.”

      Giving into his wife’s request, the fisherman returned once again to the sea. The clouds were closer and darker than before. He called for the golden fish, hoping that the rising sound of the wind would not block out his voice. As before the fish appeared and asked him why he had returned.

     “My wife is concerned that our cottage and our funds do not match. She desires to be a Duchness.” The fisherman rubbed his neck slightly ashamed.

     “Return home, it is already so.” The golden fish responded, “Hurry along, the storm is almost here.”

     The fisherman hurried home, the wind pushing against his back and causing him trip over rocks and roots. Thick black clouds swirled overhead, the blue of the sky smothered from horizon to horizon. Over the familiar hill, he was greeted by his wife. She was wearing a dress made of silk, embroidered with gold and silver. Expensive jewels hung from her neck and ears. “Duchness Ilsabill, your jewels pale in comparison to your beauty.” Instead of smiling, the fisherman’s wife crossed her arms, annoyance etched on her face.

     “My dear Duke, do you not see the tragedy that has befallen us?”

     “Tragedy?” The fisherman surveyed their cottage, assuming that the rising winds had damaged the house. “I see nothing wrong.”

     “I am a Duchness and you a Duke. Yet we live in a cottage!” She marched down to him, her voice echoing the wind in rage. “That fish has tried to swindle us! Return to it at once and demand a castle. Better yet demand to be a king for its attempt to cheat us out of what we are owed!”

     The fisherman felt a rush of heat flush against his neck. “Prince Fish has done nothing of the sort. He granted your request and nothing more.” He was finding it hard not to raise his voice at his wife’s growing greed. “And we are not owed anything. I spared his life and he repaid us kindly.” The fisherman turned away from Ilsabill, “The sky is dark, and the wind warns of danger. I do not wish to be King and I will not return to the sea tonight.”

     “What a terrible husband you have become!” Ilsabill hissed, stomping around so her husband had to face her. “I have toiled away in your garden my whole life. Asking that you provide just some comfort. Now I see a future for us where I do not have to toil,” She stepped forward gripping his forearms “Where you do not have to work all day and we can raise our children with all that we wished we had.”

     The fisherman shook his head, looking away from his wife and muttering, “I do not wish to be king.”

     “Then tell the fish to make me queen.” She whispered, kissing him on the cheek.

     Groaning, the fisherman walked slowly into the cottage, reappearing in heavy rain gear. “I’ll return soon.” Heading down the path, the wind was against him. Thunder shook the ground and lightning casted its nets across the sky. It took twice as long to reach the ocean side, but when he did there was no place to rest. His fishing spot had been swallowed by black waves rising into contrasting white caps. They slammed against the sand and rocks, spitting frigid salty foam over the earth. He approached as close as he dared, the spray creating small icicles on his coat and hat. Calling out to the sea, the fisherman feared his voice would be lost.

     For ten minutes the fisherman called, losing hope that Prince Fish would hear him. The waves rose higher and higher, forcing him to retreat farther up the coast. He turned his back momentarily to claw his way on all fours up the path. Before he could stand, the roar of a rising wave caused him to peak over his shoulder. Salt water crashed over the fisherman, dragging him from the cliff side into sea. The fisherman struggled desperately against the storm, unable to keep his head in the air. Wave after wave crashed over his head forcing him into a spiral deeper into the darkness. Finally, the fisherman stopped struggling.

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

     There is a legend among fishermen of a prince that was cursed to be a golden fish. The lucky person that catches this fish can ask him for any wish. However, nothing in this life is free. Storms follow those that ask something of the fish. The more they ask, the greater the storm. Most no longer believe the tales of riches gained and lost, but if you desire to find the golden fish, you need not look farther than the old beggar woman at the local market. Most say she is mad, for she mumbles a story to herself. A story of a fish-prince, of coming into riches, and of a storm that took it all away. If you ask her, she will tell you everything you wish to know, but she always ends her story the same way: more is never enough. Just take it from Ilsabill, Queen of the Fools. 

 

     


End file.
